


Sickbay

by VTsuion



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Concussions, Established Relationship, Friendship, Injured Spock (Star Trek), Inspired by Art, M/M, Star Trek Reverse Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-04-24 09:42:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19170688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VTsuion/pseuds/VTsuion
Summary: Spock is injured yet again in the course of duty. The rest of the bridge crew make sure he doesn't spend all that time in sickbay alone.





	Sickbay

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry to this year's Star Trek Reverse Big Bang! Thank you to the mods who organized it and especially to [@warpfactornonsense](https://startrekreversebang.tumblr.com) who drew the lovely [piece](https://warpfactornonsense.tumblr.com/post/185613140152/sickbay-my-art-submission-for) that inspired my story and helped immensely with the brainstorming!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/161542031@N07/48564038527/in/dateposted-public/)

 

Captain James Kirk crouched on the edge of a small rocky outcropping, and peered out over the dry, rolling hills of Cyreeus V. From his vantage point, he could see a band of its humanoid inhabitants winding their way up the slope, slowly drawing closer and closer to Kirk’s hiding place. Finally, the captain drew back behind the rock, into a convenient makeshift shelter where the rest of the landing party was waiting, out of sight of the hills below.

“There’s no point in playing hide and seek!” Kirk exclaimed in a carrying whisper. “I’m going to talk to them, see if I can’t make them see reason.”

“Captain,” his first officer, Commander Spock, made to protest.

“We can at least provide backup,” Lieutenant Sulu insisted and Ensign Chekov nodded in eager agreement.

Kirk gestured for silence. “I don’t want anyone else getting captured. If it doesn’t work, I need you to be free to contact the _Enterprise_.”

He waved the others back and crawled out again to peer over the outcrop. Their pursuers were getting closer. If he waited much longer, he wouldn’t be able to leave their hideout without giving away the others’ location. So, Kirk scrambled back behind the rock, shot a grin at Spock, and stepped out from their hiding place.

Spock listened as the captain’s footsteps, rustling in the dry groundcover, faded a little ways down the hill, but not out of hearing.

“Stay here,” Spock ordered.

Before the other officers could protest, he slipped out from behind the outcropping in the opposite direction from the captain. He heard the Cyreeans approaching Captain Kirk before he saw them. Slowly, Spock circled around, keeping out of sight as much as he could in the barren landscape.

As he approached from behind, one of the Cyreeans asked Kirk, “You surrender?”

“No,” the captain said, “I just want to talk. There’s no reason to fight.” As illogical as it was, Spock could almost hear the captain’s smile.

Spock saw the Cyreeans glance around at each other, though he was not close enough to attempt to interpret their expressions.

“We don’t mean any harm,” the captain continued.

Several of the Cyreeans made a noise that Spock suspected was intended to convey disbelief.

“You will come with us,” one of them said at last.

Kirk held up his hands to show that they were empty. “Just hear me out,” he insisted, but Spock could tell that it was too late.

He heard one of the Cyreeans begin to move and slipped behind them just in time to pinch their shoulder, knocking them unconscious before they could attack. Spock turned to face the others when he heard a whoosh from behind and felt a sharp pain in his head.

“Spock!” Kirk shouted as his first officer crumpled to the ground.

He drew his phaser and fired at the nearest Cyreean, who fell, stunned. The others pulled their weapons.

“Drop it,” their leader ordered.

Before Kirk could comply, two phaser blasts came from behind, one after the other, knocking out the Cyreeans on his left and right. Kirk lunged for the one in the middle before the Cyreean could respond, knocking the weapon out of their hand. Sulu and Chekov came running down the hill, firing at the remaining Cyreeans until none were left standing.

As soon as it was safe, Kirk dropped to his knees at Spock’s side and carefully lifted his head off the ground. His face was scratched and green with blood and he did not stir even as Kirk moved him, but Kirk could feel his shallow breathing.

Kirk pulled out his communicator and flipped it open with a whistle. “Beam us up. Have Dr. McCoy on standby,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Uhura said.

The hills faded around them and the landing party materialized on the transporter pad of the USS _Enterprise_.

Dr. McCoy and a squad of nurses rushed forward to meet them. Together, the nurses lifted Spock up onto a stretcher and hurried him down to sickbay. Dr. McCoy helped Kirk to his feet and they only exchanged a glance before Kirk ran out after them.

* * *

Jim stood at Spock’s side, watching his chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. Jim’s hand rested by Spock’s arm on the thin orange blanket that covered him from the waist down. The light flashed on the monitor in time with his heartbeat, slow by Vulcan standards, but impossibly fast for a human. The only sign of injury was a green scrape on his cheek that would heal naturally - no need to use the dermal regulator and use up more of his already limited energy.

Still, Spock’s eyes remained closed. He looked almost peaceful, his body unmoving in a deep sleep. Spock had an uncanny way of knowing when he was needed and when he was being watched, and he would not be caught sleeping unless he had no choice. That he was still fast asleep was more of a testament to his condition than any greenish bruise.

“Got lucky if you ask me,” Bones grumbled as he walked over to Jim. “Lucky they decided to hit him instead of blasting him with those damn sticks of theirs. You saw what they did to Ensign Maina.”

Jim’s fist clenched around the blanket. “I know,” he snapped.

Jim let out a sigh and glanced up at Bones, who was watching him with a familiar combination of irritation and concern.

“I’m sorry, Jim said, his eyes fixed back on the middle of Spock’s torso. “I know we got off easy. If it wasn’t for Spock…” he trailed off.

Bones just shook his head.

Jim absently rubbed the blanket between his fingers. He let his eyes wander up Spock’s torso, back to his serene face. Jim wanted to reach out to touch him, to brush aside a stray hair if one had dared to fall out of place, but stopped himself short. He wondered if Spock was truly asleep, undreaming, or deep in a healing trance, focused on directing his body’s recovery.

“Let me have it,” Jim ordered at last without looking away from Spock.

“Everything seems fine, aside from some minor brain damage,” Bones reported.

Jim looked up at Bones, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“A concussion,” Bones clarified. “A nasty one, but nothing to worry about in the long run. It just may be a little while before he can return to duty” - he gave Jim a look. “A break may be good for him, as much as he says he doesn’t need them.”

Jim nodded. He felt a little lighter at the news. He leaned against the bed to keep his balance.

“He’s not the only one,” Bones remarked with a pointed frown.

“I’m fine.” Jim attempted to wave him off.

Bones refused to back down. “I’m sure the last thing we need right now is both of you out of commission, but I’ll order you to join him here if I have to.”

Jim let out a sigh. He glanced back down at Spock before turning to Bones with a small, rueful smile. “I understand, doctor’s orders.”

“Good,” Bones said. “You’re off duty until you’ve slept - a full eight hours at least - and have something to eat and drink while you’re at it. It’s no wonder you’re lightheaded.”

Jim nodded in acknowledgement. He let his hand brush against Spock’s and then turned to leave. “Tell me as soon as he wakes up,” he ordered.

“As long as you don’t set foot on the bridge until you’re actually fit for duty, I will,” Bones retorted.

“I’ll be in my quarters,” Jim replied.

Bones shook his head as the captain walked out the door.

* * *

“Spock!” Jim exclaimed as he rushed into sickbay. “Bones said you were awake!”

The loud noise caused the pain in Spock’s head to spike, but he pushed it aside. He attempted to prop himself up in bed to greet the captain properly. “Sir,” Spock began.

Jim waved it off. He slowed as he reached the foot of Spock’s bed and let his eyes sweep over his first officer’s form, mostly hidden beneath the blankets. At last, he stopped at Spock’s side and met his alert, questioning gaze.

“How are you feeling?” Jim asked.

“As I informed Dr. McCoy, whatever occurred which made you believe that I needed to be brought to sickbay could not have been very serious. I am ready to return to duty whenever the doctor is willing to release me,” Spock replied.

Jim leaned against the side of the bed. As far as Jim could tell, Spock looked fine; his eyes were clear, his skin no greener than usual, and his expression sharply skeptical. But Jim was no doctor.

“I’m sorry, in here what Bones says goes,” Jim said with a wry smile. More seriously, he admitted, “You were out for a while.”

Spock paused to consider Jim’s words. Though his lips were as straight as ever, his expression seemed to fall and his self-assured confidence seemed to fade into uncertainty.

“I was not precisely aware of the passage of time,” Spock acknowledged. “I apologize if I gave you cause for concern.”

Jim reached out to rest a hand on Spock’s arm almost without thinking. He replied with half a smile, “I’ve given you worse.”

Spock nodded. “Still” - he held out a hand to Jim, his first two fingers extended.

Jim grinned and reciprocated the gesture. Their fingers brushed together and Jim felt a jolt run down his spine. Spock closed his eyes as a rush of human emotion washed over him.

When they separated, Spock looked up at Jim, perplexed as he often was by Jim’s frequently contradictory feelings. “You are still concerned?” he attempted to clarify.

Jim nodded with some reluctance. “You really don’t remember what happened?”

Spock’s eyes narrowed as he attempted to wade through his foggy memories, but they seemed to slip away before he could grasp them. The pressure in his head worsened as he attempted to concentrate.

Finally, he replied more calmly than he felt, “I have no recollection of a particular incident. Based on the evidence, I concluded, perhaps prematurely, that I was stunned by a phaser or a similar device, though I do not remember being involved in an altercation.”

Jim shook his head. “You were hit on the head,” he said and briefly explained what had happened.

Spock forced himself upright, though his head swam with the sudden motion. “I can return to the surface with you.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and hoisted himself to his feet.

“Spock!” Jim exclaimed and held out his arms out to catch Spock if he fell.

Spock teetered on his feet as the world suddenly seemed to spin around him. Jim caught him and gently pushed him back onto the bed. He could feel Spock’s heart racing in his hand, maybe even faster than usual.

“Are you alright?” Jim demanded when Spock was seated firmly on the edge of the bed, though Jim refused to let go of his sides.

Spock closed his eyes and attempted to focus to force his senses back into order, but his head still swam and something seemed to press in on his temples.

Dr. McCoy burst out of his office and demanded, “What’s going on out here?”

The pain in Spock’s head spiked, ruining all chances of concentration.

The doctor strode over to Spock and cut between him and Jim so the captain was forced out of the way. “You should be lying in bed, not trying to stand!” Bones exclaimed as he half-pushed, half-helped Spock back down onto his back.

As soon as Spock was sufficiently settled, Bones turned on Jim - “And you should know better than to encourage him!” His glare told Jim he’d gotten off easy - for now.

“I’m sorry,” Jim said, as much to Spock as to Bones. He gave Spock a smile. “Spock, do what Dr. McCoy says - this is his domain. I should get back to the bridge.”

Spock propped himself up on his arms and looked ready to attempt to sit up again. He made to protest, “Jim-”

Jim waved it off. “We won’t be going back down there for a little while anyway. You just focus on getting better. It wouldn’t do to have my first officer out of commission for longer than necessary because he refused to follow the doctor’s orders.” He gave Spock a wide, glowing grin that said more than words ever could.

“Yes, sir,” Spock replied. Despite himself, the corners of his lips turned upward ever so slightly and his eyes softened.

“Now, get out of my sickbay!” Bones interrupted at last, and shooed the captain out the door.

“I’m going,” Jim said with a smile.

Bones muttered something about “Damn starship captains” as Jim left.

Once the door slid shut, Spock let himself fall back on the pillows. His head still pounded and he seemed to look out on the quiet sickbay as though from a great distance. When his eyes fell shut, even his body seemed far away. But he still had a duty to fulfill.

He forced his eyes open. “Doctor,” he said, his sluggish muscles slow to form the words, “What is your diagnosis?”

Dr. McCoy gave him a long look somewhere between pity and a glare. “It’s just a concussion, a nasty one, but you got off easy if you ask me. Maybe a few weeks in sickbay will teach both of you” - he gestured his head toward the door - “Not to go charging off into danger like damn fools.”

Somehow, having another conversation to focus on helped to clear Spock’s mind, and his muscles seemed to cooperate when he protested, “I was injured in the course of my duty. Would you prefer I allowed the captain to be taken hostage?”

“Just because it’s your duty doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be more careful about it,” Dr. McCoy snapped. “You think I like seeing the two of you get beaten up and chewed out by everything in the galaxy?”

“I do not believe my current state is the result of having been bitten,” Spock retorted.

Dr. McCoy let out a weary sigh. “I swear, chasing after you both has cost me ten years of my life,” he grumbled, but most of the heat was gone. “How are you feeling?”

Spock’s eyebrows rose at the doctor’s choice of language, but reported all the same, “Normal aside from some disorientation and unusual fatigue. I have also been experiencing a sensation of pressure on the top of my head which increases in intensity with loud noise and bright light.”

Dr. McCoy nodded as though that was what he had expected. “And I know better than to offer you a hypo.”

“Yes,” Spock replied.

“You should get some rest,” Dr. McCoy said. “Someone will be in to check on you in a couple hours.”

Spock nodded. “Under the circumstances, I find I am disinclined to argue.”

As the doctor began to walk way, Spock spoke up again, “Thank you.” He hesitated. “I apologize for any concern I have caused you.”

Dr. McCoy made a noise of disbelief like a laugh cut short. “All I’m concerned about is what’ll happen next time,” he said, and returned to his office.

* * *

Spock lay flat on the bed, his eyes delicately shut. The readings on the monitor above his head were normal for him, but that didn’t mean much, since they had barely deviated since he arrived in sickbay. Nurse Chapel stepped over to his side to give her patient a proper examination.

His face looked so peaceful while he slept, never quite smiling, but his usual serious expression was replaced by something much more relaxed. It was a shame his hair was always so perfect, not a single strand out of place for her to casually brush aside. Instead, her eyes wandered over those pointed ears that Dr. McCoy compared to the devil, but she always thought made him look more like an elf from a fantasy world.

He deserved a break after all the work he did, but being stuck in sickbay was no vacation. From what Dr. McCoy had said, Spock even had trouble standing. She knew he would be alright, but it couldn’t be easy for someone who was usually so strong and independent to be left so helpless, even for a little while.

Of course, he would withstand it all with a stoic expression and maybe a quirked eyebrow at Dr. McCoy if they started bickering again, but Christine still wished she could do something to help his spirits. Even a Vulcan wouldn’t suffer from a little love, right? Not that she dared say anything to the impassive Mr. Spock.

But what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. She slipped her hand into his with the hope that somehow some of her love would reach him even if he couldn’t know who it was from.

She did not expect his eyes to open at the touch. She did not realize he was awake until his hand jerked out of hers.

She jumped backward in surprise and found his sharp brown eyes fixed on her.

“I'm sorry,” she exclaimed, “I was just-”

He cut her off, “Please refrain from doing that again.” There was something more than dismissive indifference in his voice; though she wasn’t sure how, she could hear the heat of anger.

She stammered out another frantic apology before fleeing from the room.

* * *

As soon as his shift was over, Captain Kirk returned to sickbay. Spock’s eyes slowly opened at the sound of his familiar footsteps and he propped himself up to greet the captain as he approached.

Jim gave Spock an easy smile. “How’re you feeling?”

“Significantly improved,” Spock replied and attempted to shift himself into a more upright position.

“Good,” Jim said, but put a hand on Spock’s back to help him sit up all the same.

Spock did not protest, though he quirked a skeptical eyebrow at the captain.

Jim just grinned back and offered Spock his hand, his first two fingers out in a familiar greeting.

Spock brushed his fingers against Jim’s and welcomed his thoughts for a fleeting moment. Sickbay was empty aside from the two of them for the time being, but it was far from the privacy of their own quarters.

Jim caught the hint of disappointment in Spock’s expression and answered it, “You’ll be out of here before we know it.” He put a solid hand on Spock’s shoulder and met his eyes, as though challenging him to disagree, but confident he would not.

Spock did not protest or look away, but he didn’t look entirely convinced.

“I’ll be glad to have you back on the bridge,” Jim remarked, undiscouraged, “And I’m sure Scotty can’t wait to return to engineering.”

Spock let himself be distracted by the conversation. His tone was normal when he said, “Yes, if I recall” - a trace of a frown flitted across his face at the thought of his struggling memory - “Commander Scott was in the midst of attempting to increase the engines’ efficiency.”

“He wasn’t happy about having to put it on hold,” Jim said with a wry smile. “I don’t think any of us can wait to have you back. Tell me if they crowd you too badly; I can set up a schedule. Bones already warned me he’ll only let one person see you at a time.”

Spock quirked a skeptical eyebrow at him. “I presume that will not be necessary.”

Jim gave him a nudge. “You’re more popular than you think.”

Spock looked at Jim in disbelief, but did not argue. Instead, he asked, “Did anything of note occur during your shift?”

Jim shook his head. “Just open space,” he said, though he looked a little wistful at the thought. Less enthusiastically, he continued, “I don’t know how many reports I signed; my hand was starting to cramp by the time it was over.”

“I am certain Dr. McCoy could prescribe you something for the pain,” Spock suggested, his expression perfectly straight, but Jim could tell when he was being teased.

He gave Spock a pointed look. “I’m sure he could.” But they both knew Spock was too stubborn to accept any such medication, and Jim knew better than to fight a losing battle.

Instead, he leaned against the bed, so he was still facing Spock, and admitted, “I missed you on the bridge. It’s just not the same having Chekov at the science station” - he glanced over to his right without even thinking - “And you know Scotty never wanted anything to do with command. I made a few rounds around the bridge, just to get up and stretch, but somehow I couldn’t come up with an excuse to distract anyone from their duty for long.”

Spock raised his eyebrows at the captain in exaggerated disbelief. “Do you intend to say that you are more efficient in my absence?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Jim retorted. “It was just paperwork, and I’m sure even my efficiency at that was down by half for lack of mental stimulation.”

“I see,” Spock replied. “I will endeavor to recover as quickly as possible to enable you to return to full efficiency.”

“I expect nothing less,” Jim said with a smile. “Now, I’m starving - and when was the last time you ate? What do you say to some dinner?”

“You intend to eat here, in sickbay?” Spock clarified.

“If you don’t mind the company, it’s better than alone in my quarters,” Jim said.

Spock’s eyes widened a little in surprise, but he seemed to come around to the idea. “I have no objection.”

“Good, any requests?” Jim asked.

Spock placed his order and Jim soon returned with a pair of trays loaded with dishes and utensils. A nurse brought over a chair for Jim, so he could eat at Spock’s bedside.

“Has Bones been keeping you busy with tests and questions?” Jim asked between bites.

Spock swallowed a spoonful of soup before answering, “No, the doctor’s orders have been to sleep. I have done little else.”

Jim considered a moment over another bite. “What about a game of chess? It sounds like we could both use the exercise.” He shot Spock a mischievous smile.

“Yes, I would be amenable to that,” Spock replied, his posture a little straighter and his head angled up ever so slightly as though his victory was already assured.

Spock maneuvered the viewscreen attached to his bed into place so they could both see it and selected the chess program.

Jim gestured for Spock to start, and so he began by instructing the computer to bring out one of his knights.

Jim mirrored Spock’s first move with a knight of his own and motioned for Spock to take his turn. His hand brushed against Spock’s as though by accident, though Jim did not bother to conceal his tell-tale grin.

They fell quiet as they played, each concentrating on his next move. Turn after turn, Spock slowly built up his usual strong defense. Jim’s play was more erratic; a few pieces forward in an advance guard, some to the sides, getting in position for an eventual trap.

Spock stared at the board, trying to make sense of the scattered pieces. His side was still not far from his typical starting formation. Jim was trying something new, as always. Spock tried to extrapolate forward as he usually did; what if he moved his rook - then Jim could move a pawn, or his queen, and then…

Spock tried to focus on his mental image of the board and what it would look like, but the harder he tried, the more it seemed to fade into an over-bright haze. He pushed aside the pressure in his head and tried again; what about his queen - then Jim could move his knight, and if Jim moved his knight… He just had to _focus…_ If Jim moved his knight, Spock could move his pawn, and then Jim…

Finally, Spock advanced a pawn.

Concern and uncertainty flashed across Jim’s face, but he let it go in favor of making a move of his own.

Spock let his eyes fall shut. He could picture the board as it was perfectly. He knew all of his possible moves, the long list formed reflexively in his mind. Usually, it was all reflexive; like any Vulcan, his mind could calculate possible outcomes faster than any human, though he could not quite match the ship’s computer.

But now, everything seemed sluggish. He tried to work his way through each possible action to determine which was the optimal move, but his head pounded and possible boards crowded his mind until he couldn’t keep track of them any more. He tried to focus back on the actual state of the board, but it was as though he was staring at it through a murky fog and he as hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember where the queen was supposed to be.

He opened his eyes to try again-

Jim rested a hand on Spock’s arm. “Spock, is everything okay?” he asked carefully.

“Yes,” Spock answered without thinking. His eyebrows rose of their own accord.

Jim’s grip on Spock’s arm tightened. He fixed Spock with his solid gaze and gave him no room to look away. A small smile softened his expression a little, but even if he wasn’t angry, he brooked no argument. “Don’t forget,” Jim said at last, his voice lighter than his face suggested, “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I have done little else,” Spock retorted, and looked at Jim as though to ask what else he expected.

Jim’s smile widened. “Good.” Almost casually - though Spock was not fooled - he remarked, “With how much we’ve played, you should be able to win without even thinking about it.”

“I presume that is the typical human strategy,” Spock replied with teasing disdain.

“When in Rome.” Jim waved toward Spock.

Spock quirked a skeptical eyebrow at him.

“It’s won me a fair few games,” Jim said. “Come, Mr. Spock, I know your intuition is good.”

“I do not understand how humans attempt to play a game of logic by guesswork,” Spock argued.

The list of possible moves had already formed in his mind. He began to attempt to make his way down it, but the pressure in his head had abated little since his last attempt and the image of the board swam before his mind’s eye.

“Spock,” Jim cautioned, his hand moved down Spock’s arm to brush against his hand, conveying a rush of concern that was not apparent in his voice. “Somehow we humans manage well enough,” he said, a challenge in his eyes.

“If you’re done keeping my patient awake,” Dr. McCoy interrupted, suddenly standing in the door to his office.

Spock quirked an eyebrow at the doctor, his expression so perfect it was everything Jim could do not to laugh.

Jim turned to face his chief medical officer. “What is it?”

“Visitation time is over,” Bones said. “As hard as it may be for a stubborn Vulcan to believe it, he needs rest, or he’ll never get out of here.”

“On this occasion,” Spock remarked as though he was surprised by his own words, “I am inclined to agree with the doctor.”

Jim shot him a grin. “I see I’m outnumbered.” His smile softened. “Sleep well, Spock.”

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement. “It is also important for you to get sufficient sleep.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” With that, Jim forced himself from the chair and let Dr. McCoy lead him to the door.

Bones followed Jim out into the corridor, and Jim led the way back to his quarters, where they could talk without disruption. Once the door had slid shut behind them, he turned to face his chief medical officer and friend, his arms folded across his chest.

“Out with it,” Jim ordered with half a smile.

“I know it’s none of my business,” Bones began, “But once it starts affecting the health of a crewmember it becomes my business. That first officer of yours has been in sickbay more than any other man on this ship, maybe even more than some of my nurses. He must have set some kind of record by now.”

Jim frowned. “What are you suggesting? We all knew the dangers when we signed up.” He hesitated. “And a lot of the men you never see, it’s because they don’t make it. I’d rather have him in sickbay than the alternative.”

Bones dug in his heels. “You beam down to god-forsaken planets as much as he does, but you get off a lot lighter.”

“You know I wouldn't order anyone to do anything I'm not willing to do myself,” Jim insisted.

“That's the problem,” Bones exclaimed, “You go charging into danger thinking you're invincible because Spock is just waiting to take the bullet for you.”

“You think I like seeing him hurt?” Jim demanded, his voice louder than he intended.

“Of course not,” Bones said, “But I’m not the one you have to convince.”

“What?” Jim’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Spock knows I don’t want him to throw himself into danger. And he should know that I need him.”

Bones gave Jim a look. “You actually think you could convince Spock not to go running headlong into danger the instant there’s a chance you might get hurt? I doubt he’s thinking about his official duties.”

Jim hesitated.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t try to talk some sense into him,” Bones said “I just wonder if you haven’t gotten a little too used to having a Vulcan shield.”

Jim looked away.

* * *

The doors to sickbay slid open with a woosh and Spock heard the click of standard issue boots against the floor. His eyes slowly opened. Thankfully, he was already sitting up, so he merely pushed himself backward a few inches, so his back was straight against the pillows.

“Lieutenant Uhura.” Spock nodded his head at her by way of greeting.

She smiled back at him and made her way over to his bed. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your meditation.”

“Apology is unnecessary. I have had little else to do,” Spock replied. “You bear some message from the captain?”

She sat down in the chair at his bedside that had been brought for Jim hours before. “I’m sure he sends his love, but no, I’m not here on official business. How are you feeling?”

“My condition is stable,” he replied. “But then what brings you to sickbay?”

She gave him a small smile, though Spock thought he saw some indication of sadness flit across her face. “I just wanted to check in on you, see how you’re doing.”

Spock’s eyes narrowed in uncertainty. “You could have ascertained my condition from the ship’s logs.”

“I know,” she said. “I just wanted to see you, that’s all. Is it so hard to understand?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “I do not see the logic.”

She leaned in toward him, a hand on the edge of his bed. “Is it so illogical for me to want to see how a friend of mine is doing, especially after what I heard was a pretty bad run in? And I couldn’t just let Captain Kirk keep you to himself,” she added with a mischievous grin.

“I see,” Spock said, though he did not sound convinced. “And now that you are here, what do you intend to do?”

She leaned back in the chair. “Oh, I don’t know, stay and chat a while I suppose. Heard any interesting gossip with those Vulcan ears of yours?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“No, I bet you’re a black hole as secrets go. I’ve heard nothing can get a Vulcan to talk if he doesn’t want to,” she remarked.

Spock looked pleased at that estimation. “Has anything of note occurred on the bridge in my absence?” he asked a little too dismissively.

Uhura had to stifle a laugh. “Not much.” She lowered her voice and leaned in toward Spock conspiratorially, “I’m not sure the captain is entirely sure what to do with himself without you there.” She leaned back and continued, “Otherwise, it’s business as usual. The captain still doesn’t know what to do about the Cyreeans. Sulu keeps trying to get out of poker night after he took the whole pot last time, but I think the rest of us will be able to corner him. We could move the game in here and you could play with us, if Dr. McCoy will allow it.”

“I do not understand the logic in a game of chance where one is expressly forbidden from calculating probabilities,” Spock said.

Uhura laughed. “I would say it’s more about playing your opponent than the probabilities, but you don’t believe in lying either, do you?”

Spock quirked an eyebrow at her.

Uhura’s smile faded as her thoughts turned to more serious matters. Finally, she asked, “I was wondering, what did happen down on that planet? I’ve heard rumors, of course, but none of them know what they’re talking about and the captain hasn’t said a word on it.”

“The Cyreeans were not pleased with our presence. The captain attempted to negotiate with them, and they attempted to take him as their prisoner,” Spock answered shortly.

She nodded in understanding. “I’m glad you made it back in on piece, at least. I heard what happened to the security officers” - she grimaced. “You sure you’re doing okay?”

“Yes,” he replied with a sharp nod. “Dr. McCoy estimates that I will be able to return to duty in a week or two, depending on whether I obey his instructions.”

She gave him a small smile. “That’s good, but it’s not what I meant. The bridge isn’t the same without you, but we’ll be alright. I was asking as a friend because I’ve been worried about you. I know you wouldn’t be stuck here for so long if it wasn’t serious; for one, the captain wouldn’t allow it. So, tell it to me plain, Mr. Spock, how bad is it? How worried should I be?” She leaned in toward him again, her hand on the side of the bed.

He hesitated. “My cognitive and motor functioning is impaired,” he admitted. “I have been experiencing difficulty focusing and am easily fatigued. It is only temporary, but highly inconvenient for the time being.”

“Sounds frustrating,” she said.

Spock’s eyebrows rose to challenge the suggestion.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked, undeterred.

“I do not believe so,” Spock said. “However, your offer is appreciated, as is your presence.”

She grinned. “We humans find few things as frustrating as seeing a friend in pain and not being able to do anything to help. Even if something as simple as dropping by for a visit helps a little, that’s enough to make us feel better. Maybe it’s illogical, but if you need anything at all, you’d be doing us a favor as much as we’d be helping you.”

He seemed to consider the suggestion. “I will keep that in mind,” he said at last, though he still sounded a little uncertain.

* * *

Spock could picture the board, all 64 squares of black and white. He tried to lay out the pieces in his mind’s eye: the queen, the king, the knights, the bishops, the rooks, and the pawns. It should have been reflexive - and he could picture the general arrangement, but as soon as he tried to focus on a single piece, he could not remember exactly where it was, as though he was seeing double.

He opened his eyes again to look at the screen displaying his game in progress. He could tell it wasn’t going well for him - again - but the longer he stared at the board in reality or his mind’s eye, the harder it became to determine what move to make. He forced his eyes shut and tried to go down the list again; if he moved the rook, then the computer could move its queen, but didn’t it have a pawn there too?

His head pounded with the effort, little bright lights pulsed across his vision. He could not concentrate. He had made too many mistakes already, he knew this game was a lost cause.

“I resign,” Spock declared. “Reset board.”

Another game; a fresh start. Spock tried to think through the familiar openings to determine which would be optimal under the circumstances. But everything was too bright, even when he closed his eyes. All the openings seemed to blur together into an illogical mush. His fist clenched of its own accord.

“Commander-”

Spock’s eyes snapped open and he glared at Nurse Chapel.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir,” she hastily stammered. “I-I just don’t think you should be playing chess in your current condition,” her voice grew stronger as she spoke.

His eyebrows rose in a silent challenge.

“I’m sorry, sir, but those are the doctor’s orders,” she said, as though he was just another patient who thought he could get away with anything.

“The doctor’s orders were to rest, which I have been doing,” he argued peevishly.

“Dr. McCoy said nothing that requires thinking or concentrating,” she retorted. She finally got up the courage to say, “Computer off,” and the screen blinked into darkness.

He stared at her, affronted. “And what, then, do you suggest?” he demanded.

For all of his Vulcan stoicism, Commander Spock looked abjectly miserable, glaring at Nurse Chapel with sharp eyes for taking away his only distraction even though she could tell it had been causing him pain. His active mind, which she could not help but admire, seemed to spin in circles without anything to do.

“Music might be okay,” she suggested, though her confidence faltered. “What about that lyre of yours? I could bring it from your quarters if you want.”

He cocked his head to the side as though to consider her suggestion, though his gaze remained harsh. “Yes,” he replied at last, as though it was an order. More softly he said, “Thank you.”

* * *

Spock sat upright in the bed, his lyre cradled in his hands. He brushed each string in turn and let the sound echo around sickbay, which was empty for the moment aside from himself. He turned a dial on the lyre’s frame and played the first string again, listening for even the most minute deviation from the correct pitch. He maneuvered his hand to change the sound, higher and lower. When he was satisfied, he moved on to the next.

He slipped easily into the familiar meditation. For all the concentration it required, it seemed to be in a different part of his brain from the injury, and so he experienced little difficulty or pain. He could not deny that it was a relief.

He was adjusting another dial when the doors slid open. Spock put his lyre aside as Ensign Chekov strode into the room, his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped at attention by the foot of Spock’s bed.

“Commander,” Chekov said by way of greeting with a sharp nod.

Spock’s posture straightened reflexively. “You have something to report, Ensign?” he asked, though his eyebrows rose and the corners of his lips turned upward in a trace of a smile.

“No, sir,” Chekov said. He hesitated. “I just wanted to see how you were doing after everything that happened.”

Spock nodded in acknowledgement. “My condition is largely unchanged. I have sustained minimal damage, though Dr. McCoy has provided no precise schedule for my release.”

“It’ll be good to have you back on the bridge, sir; it has not been the same without you,” Chekov said.

“I endeavor to return as soon as possible,” Spock replied.

“Very good, sir.” Chekov stood stiffly at attention.

Spock watched him intently, but said no more.

Chekov involuntarily cleared his throat. He glanced around the room as though searching for something to say, but somehow came up empty handed.

At last, Chekov met Spock’s piercing gaze, gave another sharp nod and took his leave.

* * *

As soon as Captain Kirk was done with his shift and had excused himself from the last uncertain officer in need of his input, he hurried down to sickbay. Jim stepped through the door from the bright light of the hall into relative darkness. He stopped by the threshold as his eyes adjusted to the dim light - below fifty percent.

To his surprise, Spock was not sleeping. He sat upright in his bed, watching Jim as he entered. Jim could barely make out the slight upward curve of Spock’s lips; they looked softer without his usual makeup.

“Captain,” Spock said in greeting. His voice was quiet, but his only competition was the distant hum of the ship.

Jim grinned and strode over to him. He lowered his voice to match as he teased, “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Spock gave him a look of disbelief, as though the last thing he needed was more sleep.

“That bad?” Jim offered Spock his hand.

Spock let his first two fingers rest on Jim’s. Jim could feel Spock’s heart racing through the warm touch. Their eyes met and a spark like laughter seemed to pass between them. What held them there was more subtle, but no less captivating.

Reluctantly, Spock pulled away at last. Jim made to sit next to him on the side of the bed, but Spock leaned over to remove his lyre from the chair and Jim accepted it, though he had a slight preference for the bed.

“You’ve been practicing?” Jim asked.

“Yes,” Spock said. He paused as though to find the right words, though the care with which he said them suggested it had been deliberately planned, “Would you like to hear a piece?”

Jim could not hold back an eager smile. “Of course,” he said, his voice a little too loud for the darkened sickbay, occupied by just the two of them.

Jim’s eyes widened a little in a silent apology, but Spock appeared merely bemused as he picked up his lyre and positioned his hands on the strings and knobs. His expression softened as he readied to play; his usually sharp gaze abstracted and his lips relaxed, turned ever so slightly upward in a suggestion of a peaceful smile.

He began by turning a single knob on the side. Without even touching the strings, a soft, low whistle began to emanate from where Spock sat. He turned it up a little and then back down, so it faded to a low whistle that Jim had to lean in closer to hear.

Then Spock turned to the strings. With long, delicate fingers, he made ripples in the otherwise clear stream of sound. He plucked at one string, then another and slowly the rhythm came together into a steady rain or a march or a heartbeat that grew faster and faster. Jim felt his heart accelerate a little with the music, though it soon became fast for even a Vulcan’s heart.

One of Spock’s hands danced along the base while the other strummed across the strings in swirling waves. Jim didn’t even notice him move a hand aside to turn up one of the dials, but the airy whistle that permeated each note grew a little louder.

As the music rose to a fever pitch, it resonated with something in Jim - his heart already racing - like a powerful desperation. All he could think of was Spock, fallen to the ground on an alien planet, injured but he didn’t know how bad. Muted as it was, the alien howl rang with the clarity of what he needed to do, the torrent of notes trembled with fear that he would not be able to in time.

And then, with a final distant scream, the music fell again. Spock plucked at the strings like the steady ticking of a clock. Jim was breathing hard, his heart still racing, watching Spock, entranced, but with a little trepidation. Spock’s eyes met his and for a moment Jim thought Spock gave him a gentle smile, but before he could be sure, it was gone.

When Spock strummed at the strings now, it was peaceful, like waking up from a nightmare; ripples in a quiet dawn or the peace of a moonlit, starry night. It began as a low tune with an occasional twinkling high. Then the melody swirled into gentle eddies with a rhythmic undercurrent of something like excitement, or maybe nerves. Jim leaned in closer to hear it properly.

The notes swirled tighter and tighter, drawing Jim in. He leaned toward Spock, watching him as he seemed lost to the world. Spock’s eyelids rested at half-mast, his gaze softly rested upon the lyre. Each movement of his hands seemed effortless, casting shadows in waves across the strings. The sound gave Jim the impression they were floating, and in a way they were - drifting out through space, among the stars - but it was as though they two had the galaxy all to themselves.

At last, Spock drew out a final long note and then only the whistle of the instrument remained. That too faded, as Spock turned down the dial, leaving them both in silence. Jim’s own heartbeat had never sounded so loud.

Only then did Spock look up from his lyre and meet Jim’s eyes once again. There was something subdued in his expression; Jim could tell Spock was smiling, but couldn’t point out the signs. Jim knew his own face had split into a grin and, as soon as it was clear the performance was done, he reached out and rested his hand on Spock’s. He let the contact between them convey all the words he could have said and many more besides.

“Thank you,” Jim said at last, though he did not relinquish Spock’s hand, and he was sure Spock could feel his gratitude flowing through the touch.

Spock merely bowed his head in acknowledgement, his expression carefully controlled.

Jim smiled back at him, almost glowing with affection in the dim light - Spock did not need his Vulcan telepathy to feel it radiating off of him. Spock let a little bit of his own emotion through to answer him.

Jim squeezed Spock’s hand and Spock felt a wave of relief that was not his own, followed by a sudden rush of guilt. Jim’s gaze fell and he reluctantly pulled away, though he did not go far; his arms still rested on the bed at Spock’s side.

Spock quirked a quizzical eyebrow at him.

Jim took in a deep breath as he gathered his thoughts. Finally, he met Spock’s eyes once more and said, “It’ll be a relief to have you back on your feet.” He gave Spock a wry smile, but something in his eyes suggested he was holding back.

Still, Spock replied, “I find myself inclined to agree.”

Jim’s smile widened, but it did not last long. He glanced away again. “I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost you; if they had thought to fire their weapons.”

Spock inclined his head in understanding. “It is convenient that they did not.”

“Convenient?” Jim put a hand on Spock’s arm and looked up into his eyes, his gaze firm, but not without warmth. “Spock, this isn’t about convenience. If you had died…” he trailed off, unsure what he could say to capture the feeling.

Jim tried again, “This isn’t just about the _Enterprise_. I’m not just worried about losing the best first officer in the fleet. You’re more to me than that.” He hesitated, but when he continued, there was no doubt, “You’re important to me, more important than anything, as though you’re a part of me.”

Spock almost smiled at Jim’s words, though he quickly schooled his features. “I understand.” He offered Jim his hand, his first two fingers extended.

Jim reciprocated the gesture and their fingers brushed together in a rush of affection.

As they parted, Jim said, “I don’t like seeing you get hurt on my behalf - or anyone’s.”

“I cannot stand by when you are in danger,” Spock retorted, but his expression did not harden.

“I thought you might say that.” Jim looked resigned, but not thrilled about it. Reluctantly, he conceded, “Maybe it’s best if both of us stayed out of danger, or at least were a little more careful” - he shot Spock a smile, though quickly turned more serious again - “It’s not fair for me to go charging into danger and drag you with me.”

“I will follow wherever you lead,” Spock said.

“That’s the problem,” Jim said with half a smile. “But I appreciate it,” he added. “It just means I have to be careful enough for the both of us.”

“I would prefer for you to have a higher regard for your own safety,” Spock acknowledged. “I do not wish to lose you either, as my captain or my friend.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim said, taking Spock’s hand in his once more.

Spock feigned confusion, as though there was no need for apology.

Jim took it as forgiveness and answered with a grin.

He glanced around the dark sickbay, quiet and empty aside from the little pool of light around Spock’s biobed. “Is there room up there for two?” Jim asked softly, already getting to his feet.

Spock looked highly dubious, but scooted over all the same. Jim kicked off his regulation boots and slid onto the bed, taking up all the space Spock had given him and then some, so he leaned heavily into Spock’s side. He snaked an arm around Spock’s waist and rested his head on Spock’s shoulder. Spock’s hand settled on Jim’s leg.

Once he was all comfortable, surrounded, at least on one side, by Spock’s Vulcan warmth, Jim let out a sigh of contentment. “It’s just not the same having that whole room to myself,” he murmured.

“I have likewise found sickbay to be excessively quiet,” Spock remarked - his breath tickled Jim’s ear as he spoke.

Jim knew what he meant. The rest of the room was cold and sterile. With the lights down to minimum, any human could be excused for worrying about the dark corners - not that a Vulcan would have any such fears.

Jim gave Spock a conspiratorial smile, which Spock answered with bemusement.

Jim let his eyes fall shut and tried to keep time with Spock’s steady breathing. Spock’s bony shoulder made for a sharp pillow, but he found the softest part, and otherwise he was comfortable and warm and it was too easy for an overworked starship captain to be lulled into sleep.

“Jim,” Spock whispered, just as the aforementioned captain began to doze.

Jim made some noise of acknowledgement that did not quite succeed at being a recognizable word.

“Jim, you require sleep,” Spock made another attempt.

“I know,” Jim mumbled, torn between sleeping and waking up. More coherently, he said, “That’s what I’m trying to do.” His eyes remained shut.

“In a bed,” Spock insisted.

“This is a bed,” Jim retorted.

“Where you can get a full night’s sleep.” With some effort, Spock maneuvered his arm to prop up Jim’s back and nudge him out of the bed.

Jim let out an undignified groan. Finally, he forced himself upright and opened his eyes, blinking in the relatively bright light.

“My condition is improving,” Spock said. “I doubt even Dr. McCoy will be able to find an excuse to keep me here for much longer.”

“I hope not,” Jim said. He rolled out his shoulders and stretched his neck, admittedly sore from even a short nap.

“Go sleep,” Spock reminded him with the suggestion of a smile.

“Alright, alright,” Jim retorted good-naturedly. He leaned in for a quick kiss, savoring the feeling of Spock’s soft lips on his own for only a moment, before he finally swung his legs over the side of the bed and forced himself to his feet.

“Good night, Spock,” Jim said, with a smile.

“Good night, Jim,” Spock said, his hand outstretched for one last kiss.

Their fingers brushed together in one last lingering touch. Spock’s eyes softened and Jim grinned back at him, in no hurry to leave.

“Good night,” Spock repeated at last.

“Good night, Spock,” Jim said a little reluctantly. “Sleep well.”

“Have a sufficiently restful sleep,” Spock replied.

Jim gave Spock a parting smile and finally made his way to the door, and back out into the brightly lit hall.

* * *

“Commander, I thought I might find you here,” Scotty declared as he stepped through the door, into sickbay.

The lights were back up at one hundred percent and one of the nurses was busy giving an officer a routine checkup.

“Lieutenant Commander Scott,” Spock replied, sitting up a little straighter in bed, “Has something occurred which requires my attention?”

“No, sir,” Scotty said with a smile. “A little birdie just told me you might be getting bored all cooped up in here, not that I can blame you.”

Spock quirked an eyebrow at the description, but did not protest. Instead, he asked, “And you have come to propose a solution?”

“I thought I might be able to help, at least.” Scotty took his turn sitting in the chair by Spock’s bed. “If you’re in here for too much longer I can try to get you a proper viewscreen,” he remarked.

“I am certain Dr. McCoy would be pleased to hear that,” Spock said.

Scotty chuckled. “I’m sure he would throw a fit if we threatened to tear up his sickbay, but I’m willing to give it a try if you are.”

“I appreciate the thought, Mr. Scott, however, I do not expect to be interred here for much longer.”

“That’s good to hear,” Scotty exclaimed. “There’s no one else on the bridge who understands the _Enterprise_ and her engines quite like you do. Captain Kirk loves her, but he can only talk for so long about the warp drive before he gets out of his depth - you understand.”

“The captain has little time to spare for technical journals amidst his other duties,” Spock acknowledged.

“Precisely,” Scotty said. “I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to read the latest report on warp efficiency with all the time you’ve had lying around here?”

A ghost of a frown flitted across Spock’s face. “I unfortunately have not.”

If Scotty noticed the sudden stiffness in Spock’s voice, he paid it no heed. “If what they’re saying is true - and I have my doubts - we should be able to increase the warp drive’s efficiency by five percent. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but that could be the difference between being dead in the water and getting home free, if you know what I mean.”

“Do they claim to have fixed the inherent inefficiency in the dilithium?” Spock asked, with doubts of his own.

“They say they’ve found a way to get around it a wee bit, but I’d be happy to hear your take on it” - Scotty handed Spock a tape to put into the monitor.

The screen buzzed to life. It displayed a complex schematic of the inside of a warp engine, focused on the area around the dilithium crystals. It was a familiar image, but somehow Spock had trouble focusing on all the fine print and small details. Scotty launched into an explanation, and Spock felt the pressure in his head begin to build again.

Spock attempted to disregard the discomfort, but the more he tried to concentrate on Scotty’s words, the more his head began to spin. Bright spots cluttered his vision and Scotty’s voice seemed much too loud.

At last Spock gave in and motioned for silence. Scotty fell quiet and Spock let his eyes fall shut a moment to recompose his thoughts amidst the pounding in his head.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Spock?” Scotty asked. “Do you need me to call for Dr. McCoy?”

“There is no need to concern the doctor,” Spock replied. He opened his eyes. “My apologies, Mr. Scott, it appears I have overestimated the rate of my recovery. I do not believe I will be able to be of any help to you today.” There was a bitter undercurrent to his voice that the captain would have detected immediately, but that he hoped went unnoticed by Mr. Scott.

Scotty’s face fell in what Spock suspected was very human sympathy. He gave Spock a subdued smile. “I doesn’t matter, it’s not like the engines will be going anywhere without us. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, if you’ll excuse my saying. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, I do not believe so.” Somewhat belatedly, Spock tacked on, “However, your concern is not unappreciated.”

Scotty looked unconvinced, but said all the same, “If there’s anything any of us can do, we’d all be mighty glad to help you. We’ve all had our turns in sickbay, and as fun as it is to visit Dr. McCoy, well, there’s nothing like being back on your feet.”

Spock nodded. “I find that I am inclined to agree.” He tried again to compartmentalize the aching in his head. The lights seemed too bright, every noise a little too loud to his sensitive ears.

Scotty forced himself to his feet. “I best be going, those reports won’t sign themselves. If you ever change your mind about that viewscreen, I’d be happy to see what I can rig up.”

“I appreciate the thought, but I do not believe that will be necessary,” Spock replied.

“If you’re sure,” Scotty said, and left with a smile.

* * *

Lieutenant Uhura strode into sickbay, absently humming a favorite tune. “Good morning, Mr. Spock,” she said as she entered, making straight for the chair beside his bed.

Spock had his lyre in his arms and was turning one of the dials as Uhura entered. She grinned at the sight of him.

“As we are not in orbit around a star,” he remarked, glancing up from the instrument, “I take that to be one of your human metaphors.”

“It’s morning for me,” she retorted. “Christine told me she brought you your lyre to help with your recovery. It seems to be doing its job.”

“Perhaps,” Spock replied enigmatically. He put the instrument aside.

“How are you doing?” she asked more seriously. “Scotty mentioned things aren’t going as fast as you’d like.”

Spock quirked an eyebrow at her. “What is, is,” he answered.

Uhura folded her arms across her chest. “That doesn’t mean you have to be happy about it.”

“Experiencing unhappiness would not improve my situation,” he said.

Uhura gave him a look, but she knew better than to argue. Instead, she said with a smile, “Well, I doubt you’ll be stuck here for too much longer.” And then, she changed the topic. “What were you playing there?”

“A meditation,” he replied. “Most contemporary Vulcan works written for the lyre are intended to aid the musician and their audience in meditating. They often evoke the shifting of the sands in the wind.”

“That sounds beautiful!” Uhura exclaimed.

Spock gave her a rare subtle smile. His head rose a little with pride. After a moment he suggested, almost hesitant, “You have exhibited some aptitude for the lyre before. Would you like to attempt to play a piece?”

“Of course!” she answered, perhaps a little too loud. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I mean that I would love to.”

“This one should not be too difficult.” Spock picked up the lyre and began to turn the knobs so that a soft whistle emanated from the instrument.

He took in a deep breath and his body seemed to relax. Spock carefully positioned his fingers on the strings and brushed across them with his other hand, sending a ripple through the stream of sound. A series of smaller ripples came together into a swirling eddie that shifted up and down the instrument until it faded back into the smooth whistle.

Spock turned the dial back and the sound faded into silence. The only sound that remained was the nurse hard at work on the other side of the room.

Spock carefully handed the lyre over to Uhura. “Do not forget that the rhythm in such a piece is cyclical. What I played is only a template to be improvised on, but the structure of the cycle must remain intact.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered with a grin, cradling the instrument delicately in her arms. Her hands trembled a little with nerves. “You’ve got this, Nyota,” she murmured to herself.

If Spock was skeptical of her approach, he did not voice it, though Uhura could see it written across his face.

“I just don’t want to break a priceless Vulcan artifact,” she retorted.

“I would not have given it to you if I believed there was a risk of you doing so,” Spock replied.

Uhura gave him a wry smile - she supposed he was trying to help in his way.

She turned to the lyre and took in a deep breath as Spock had done. She made sure her hands were in the right places, the instrument balanced carefully on her lap. And then she turned up the dial.

The lyre let out a whistle that quickly turned sharp, almost piercing. She hastily turned it back down. “Sorry,” she said.

Spock gave her a look, but did not comment.

More cautiously, she turned the dial up until there was a soft, audible whistle, humming through the air. Then, she maneuvered her hands to the strings. She arranged her fingers across the bottom, as close to what Spock had done as she could remember.

“The tip of your index finger is two millimeters is too far down the string to produce the initial note,” Spock corrected her.

Uhura glanced up at him. “Two millimeters?” she confirmed.

“Yes,” Spock answered, apparently impervious to her skepticism.

“Of course,” she said with a wry smile, but adjusted her fingers all the same.

If she overshot, he did not protest. Instead, he waited patiently as she tried to remember how he’d started the piece.

Finally, she strummed her fingers across the strings, creating a soft ripple in the low whistle already emanating from the instrument. Once it faded, she made another ripple, a little faster, and then another, so that they swirled together in little rivulets. She moved her hand across the strings in circles, trying to trace the pattern Spock’s fingers had made just minutes before. It made a beautiful sound, even if she didn’t have it quite perfect.

She counted out the beats as Spock had taught her to last time she played, and around the same time he had, she made a final ripple and let it fade, before turning off the dial.

When at last it fell silent, Spock remarked, “A unique rendition.”

Uhura held out one arm and held the other across her stomach in an exaggerated bow.

“Would you like to play a more complicated piece?” Spock suggested.

“Yes,” Uhura exclaimed with a grin, and handed Spock back his lyre so he could demonstrate.

* * *

“Commander.” Ensign Chekov stood at attention in the middle of sickbay, his hands clasped behind his back.

Spock moved the monitor aside, displaying his latest game of chess. “What is it, Ensign?”

“I wanted to see how you're doing, sir,” Chekov said.

“I have been away from the bridge for longer than anticipated,” Spock acknowledged.

“Is everything okay - sir?” Chekov hastily tacked on the formality.

“At ease, Ensign,” Spock replied, almost bemused.

Chekov let his arms fall to his sides for lack of anything to do with them. He glanced between Spock and the chair at his bedside, uncertain whether Spock had intended for him to sit or remain standing.

“My condition has improved,” Spock explained drily, “Dr. McCoy merely wishes for me to remain in sickbay for observation to confirm that fact.”

Finally, Chekov decided to take Spock’s order literally, in true Vulcan fashion, and sat down, his posture still as straight as Spock's. “It’s a relief to hear that you’re feeling better, sir,” he said once he was seated.

“There was never any uncertainty as to whether I would recover,” Spock replied. “The belabored question was merely when.”

“With all due respect sir, I heard it was pretty hairy when you first got here. At least the captain seemed pretty worried,” Chekov said.

Spock’s expression hardened; his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together in a thin line. But he soon relented, “I apologize for any concern I may have caused. Fortunately, thanks in no small part to the efforts of Dr. McCoy, it has been proven undue.”

“And I'm very grateful for that, sir. I don't know how this ship would operate without you.” Chekov hesitated. “Permission to speak freely?”

Spock’s eyebrows rose, but he answered, “Granted.”

“Sir,” Chekov attempted, “When we were on Cyreeus V, why did you order Lieutenant Sulu and I to stay behind when you went to rescue the captain? We could have provided backup.”

“It was not logical to risk the entire mission,” Spock replied. “In the event that I failed, it was essential that you remained free to contact the ship.”

“You still didn’t need to go in alone,” Chekov protested, “We could have fired from a distance to keep them from attacking you and the captain. It’s our duty to protect our senior officers too.”

Spock looked ready to retort, but Chekov’s words gave him pause. At last he replied with a trace of a smile in his eyes and at least a touch of sarcasm, “I will take your counsel into consideration when I next encounter such a situation.”

Heartened, Chekov replied, “I mean no offense, sir, but I do not find that very comforting.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at him. “What would you suggest, Ensign?”

Chekov tried his luck and suggested, “You could say... that you will try to be more careful?”

Spock seemed to consider the idea. “Very well, I will make an attempt.”

* * *

Dr. McCoy watched Spock pace between the biobeds, from one end of sickbay to the other. He had stumbled as he got to his feet, but he walked steadily, a little slower than usual, but otherwise normal.

“Okay,” Dr. McCoy cut him off, “You can sit.”

Spock took his time returning to his biobed. Dr. McCoy couldn’t tell if the Vulcan was being careful or stubborn. When Spock sat down, he stayed on the side of the bed, as though he was worried he wouldn’t be allowed out of bed again if he got back in. Spock raised his eyebrows at the doctor as though challenging him to make him stay.

Dr. McCoy refused to back down. “You’re still recovering. You’ve improved, but you’ve still got a ways to go. If I see that you’re working full shifts before I say so, I’ll order you right back here no matter what Jim says.”

“Understood,” Spock said, his voice coldly level.

“You’re sure you haven’t been experiencing any other symptoms that you haven’t bothered to mention?” Dr. McCoy pressed.

“None,” Spock retorted. “My condition is normal aside from some minor difficulty with intense concentration.”

The doctor gave him a once over all the same, but in this case there wasn’t anything a glance could tell him that his tests hadn’t already. Finally, he said, “It’ll be good get you out of here - it’s about time.”

“My sentiments precisely,” Spock replied.

“You’re free to go,” Dr. McCoy said. He couldn’t help but add, “Maybe next time you’ll use that Vulcan logic of yours before you rush headfirst into danger.”

Spock’s eyebrows rose. “My decision was perfectly logical.”

“I’m sure it was,” Dr. McCoy retorted. “And you don’t have the emotional decency to care about how the rest of us feel about it.”

Spock straightened his back and gave the doctor a haughty glare even as he admitted, “I merely miscalculated the impact my injury would have on the rest of the crew.”

Dr. McCoy had a snappy remark ready on the tip of his tongue, but he faltered as he realized what Spock had said. Finally he grumbled, “Get out of here, we don't want to make Jim any more impatient than he already is.”

Spock nodded in assent and forced himself to his feet. The doctor knew better than to offer him a hand. Once Dr. McCoy was confident Spock wouldn't fall over, he retreated to his office.

Spock slid off the light blue gown that designated him as a patient and Nurse Chapel handed him his science blue uniform, just a shade or two darker. She did not move as he pulled his uniform on over his undershirt, though she avoided his piercing eyes.

Finally, she got up the courage to look up at him and say, “It's good to see you back on your feet. It was hard to watch sometimes - I can't imagine how it must have been for you.”

“It is illogical to have feelings about that which one cannot control.” He watched her, his expression flat, maybe impatient or a little perplexed. She couldn't really tell.

Still, she couldn't help but let out a dry laugh. “I know, but somehow it doesn't make them any easier to ignore.”

His eyebrows rose in well-practiced skepticism. And then they fell with a dawning realization. “My apologies,” he said.

“I know,” she cut him off. The corners of her lips twitched even as she pressed them tightly together. “I'm sorry, I should go.”

“Thank you for aiding in my recovery,” Spock said.

She gave a harried nod and rushed from the room, back into the lab.

Once she was gone, Spock made one last survey of the room. And then, at long last, he made his way to the door.

He stepped out into the corridor and walked to the turbo lift as quickly as he could in long, eager strides. He waited, standing as still and straight as a pole, as it conveyed him to the bridge. Finally, it came to a stop and the door opened. If he hesitated before stepping out, onto the bridge, it was imperceptible.

Uhura stood to greet him with a grin. “Welcome back, Mr. Spock.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“So, Dr. McCoy finally let you out,” Mr. Scott said, joining them.

Chekov glanced away from the science station. “Mr. Spock,” he exclaimed, “You're back!”

“Yes, I am aware,” Spock replied with a trace of a smile.

“We’re all relieved to see you back on your feet,” Uhura said.

“It is a relief to be ‘back on my feet,’” Spock admitted. He hesitated. “I appreciate the” - he paused - “friendship that you all showed me while I was incapacitated.”

He reflexively glanced over at the captain’s chair to find Kirk looking at him, watching him with a wide smile.

Spock stepped forward to meet him, an eyebrow raised as though it could conceal his pleasure at such an enthusiastic greeting.

“It's good to have you back on the bridge,” the captain said. His eyes, shining with affection, said the rest.


End file.
